Love Is Blindess
by Sweet Honey-sempai
Summary: Kasane, Yuma, Ukyo, Hisoka, the Count, Mitani, Touda, Tsuzuki, Tsubaki, Tatsumi, Oriya, Wakaba. Twelve people, twelve loves. Ch. 9, Tsubaki: Love is drowning in an empty well; all the secrets and no one to tell.
1. Kasane

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei

**Notes:** This fic was based on the song "Love is Blindess" by U2, which is an excellent song and an excellent band. This is a concept fic for me, and I don't know how good it'll be. I haven't written First Person for awhile…and never so many First Person's, either. So if it's crap, please forgive me.

**Chapter Warning:** Suicide, infanticide. Spoilers for the as-yet-unpublished-in-English manga

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i. Kasane

"My dearest Nagare," I say out loud to myself, my hand and voice shaking as my pen strokes the paper. "To quote an English lady who also wrote one of these, 'I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been'."

Two drops of water, quickly followed by a third, a fourth, a fifth, decorate the page.

"How could any two people be as happy as we had been? No one could love as much as we did. I think Iwao knew that. I think he couldn't stand it. Such a spoiled man. He hates us. He wants to punish us. How can I live with such hatred surrounding me? How can I live seeing that man smiling smugly at me day after day, knowing that his filthy hands were on my child's neck and he watched her flail while she suffocated? I can't. I just can't, Nagare. I feel like he's strangling me, too. It's getting harder and harder to breathe as I'm writing this. I can hear my little girl crying."

I can hear my little girl crying. I want to get up and run to her, hold her in my arms and comfort her, look up and see my husband in the doorway, and recall how easy it is to love a man, especially one as young as we are, who takes care of his child.

I picked her name and the kanji myself. "Hisoka"…"Secret". Like she was my little secret, my little love child that the rest of the world couldn't touch.

"Take good care of Rui," I say as I write. "I know how infatuated she is with you, and I know that you'll want another me. I think your names fit better together, too. "Nagare and Rui" flows easier than "Nagare and Kasane". Rhyming names are silly. Do me a favor though, Love? Don't let her forget her niece. Don't let my baby's name die."

My hand is wet.

"I think it might be dark and cold where the baby is, but it'll be okay, so long as I'm with my child. Please…join us when it's possible. We'll miss you until then.

All my love,

Kasane."

I press my lips against the paper and leave it by the tree I'd been leaning against. The lake is cold, and the water reflects the night sky. The moon is a crescent, and as a cloud blocks out the light from the sky, I go under. For a moment, all I see is black. I can hear my little girl crying.


	2. Yuma

Disclaimer: I do not own Yami no Matsuei 

**Chapter Warnings:** Vulgar language, fondling, lesbianism

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ii. Yuma

"Come _on_, Yuma!" I hear Saya mutter, unaware of the fact that I'm just a few steps behind her. "You know we only have a half-hour until the train leaves."

"Tell you what," I say, putting my hands on her shoulders. "Why don't we stop worrying about the train and go have lots of sex instead?"

"Yuma!" she squeals, turning her head. She can't turn the rest of her body because my hands are already down her shirt. "But the case…"

"We can do it tomorrow, can't we?" I purr in her ear. "It's not like the spirit is going anywhere."

My hands slip inside her bra and she shivers. Her eyes roll up and she smiles. I know I've convinced her now. This girl is all about the boobs. I guess that explains why she was so freaked out on that hot springs trip when I felt her up. Well, honestly, if she didn't want me to touch them she shouldn't have mentioned how big they'd gotten. Like I hadn't already noticed. I simply hadn't _said_ anything.

Of course, that was _before_ we finally met Rika, someone brave enough to admit that she liked the hole, not the pole.

That was my regret. Not being as brave as Rika. I'm pretty sure it was Saya's, too, but then, there's always some little niggling doubt that there's something else.

Ah, well. We have all kinds of time for her to tell me. My hands are a little too busy to let my mind worry about that right now. I love feeling women. They're so soft. And Saya is definitely the softest of them all.

I hear a catcall from some distance away and make a face at our detractor. Screw him. We're the only couple in Meifu who is not only aware of who they love, but also consummate that love. Frequently. Why should we give it up just because there happens to be two pairs of titties instead of one?

Besides, hearing those soft little noises from Saya's throat more than makes up for any insult we've ever gotten. I almost wish I'd figured that out before I died, but then I wouldn't be here massaging Saya's breasts and waiting for her to get really excited. Just from looking at her, my adorable little Saya with those big green eyes and blonde pigtails, you'd never know how much of a fireball she is in bed.


	3. Ukyo

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei

**Chapter Warnings:** Vague/Mild BDSM

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iii. Ukyo 

"I'm coming a little loose, Kazu-kun," I say, even though my throat is dry enough to kill words.

"Oh, really?" He stops for a second; a courtesy. "Where?"

"Right wrist," I say, flopping my hand. He takes his hands off my legs and tightens the rope tying my wrist to the bedpost.

"Fine now?"

I smile. "Green."

I really don't like sex that much. Odd, I know, judging by the funny looks I get whenever I talk to the women at Kokakuro, but I went to medical school, and the whole thing has become far too clinical for me. It's not very sexy when you think about what's actually going on down there. And when you _look_ at the actual parts involved, forget it. You'll want to be celibate.

Kazu-kun went to the same medical school, though, so I don't know what happened there.

Oh well. He likes it, and that's enough for me. We barely see each other anyway, so there's no harm in indulging on the rare chance we see each other face-to-face.

I don't like it when he pulls my hair, though. And the knives make me nervous. He doesn't really _use_ them anymore, after one time when he nicked my throat and we had to stop so I wouldn't bleed to death. Still, being able to turn my head and see a blade sticking out of the mattress is a little disconcerting.

His nails dig into my thighs.

"Yellow."

"Hmm?"

"Yellow," I say again, but I have a feeling that he's not really listening. The feeling is intensified because once again, he's biting my neck, and I told him last time that the bite and scratch marks looked unprofessional. "Please, Kazu-kun, I don't want other people seeing our lovelife."

"Why, who are you showing it to, you whore?"

This is the only time he speaks to me like that. Usually I can put up with it, considering the respectful way he refers to me out in public, but I had a stressful day today—we're worried over getting sued—and today it's not sitting well with me.

"Red."

"Don't think so, poppet."

"_Red_," I say again, or try to, since suddenly there's cloth in my mouth. A rag. That reminds me, I need to get laundry done.

There are times when I've let him go ahead even after I've given him the stoplight. That's been okay before, but it's been a long time since we last slept together and I'm not used to him. It's starting to hurt. More than it usually does, I mean. And today really _was_ stressful…

"Red," I mumble through the rag. He ignores me. "Red." Again. " _Red_!"

"A moment, poppet."

He pushes again. A few rings of light appear in my vision. There's a numbing sensation and then it's over. I've recovered my senses and he's already lit a cigarette. Why a doctor is smoking is beyond me.

"My gratitude, poppet," he says, and puts his cigarette out against the rag in my mouth. He reaches over to pull the knife away from my head and uses it to cut me free. "I needed that," he adds as he pulls the gag out of my mouth.

I sit up and notice for the first time that there's blood on my legs. Absently he runs his fingers against it and licks it off.

I will never understand him.

I get up and crawl under the bed for the first aid kit. I've found I need to keep a lot of roller bandages on hand whenever he's around. I sit on the floor to bandage my legs. The bed is too wet with various fluids to sit on.

"You aren't tying it tight enough."

My hands are shaking. He grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet, and proceeds to correct my bandaging techniques.

"How do you survive without me, poppet?" he asks. "You are still such a student, in so many ways."

I sit at his feet and hug my knees. He puts his hand on my head and pets my hair.

"Cigarette?" he offers.

"No thanks," I say. He continues to stroke my hair, something he does after every time. I like the affection of it. And this way we both get what we want, pretty much. Of course, what I really want is for him to be happy with me. So for as long as he enjoys this, I do, too.

His hand moves and he takes my ear. I shut my eyes and rest against him.


	4. Hisoka

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei

**Chapter Warnings:** Vague rape, foul language, disturbing ideas

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iv. Hisoka

_Anger. Fear._

_Breathe. Choke. Fall. Struggle._

_Lust. Fear._

_Touch. Grab. Mount. Strip. Tie._

_Want. Don't want._

_Scratch. Lick. Bite. Slap. Cut. Bleed. Lick._

_Deep. Hard. Scream. _

_Slap. Deeper. Harder. Scream. Want. Don't want._

_Tongue. Bite. Scream. Don't want._

_Deeper. Harder. Want._

_Scream. Don't want. Choke. Cut. Bleed. Scream. Dark. Scream. Silence._

_Accept._

_Deeper. Harder._

_Enjoy. Want._

_Don't want. Scream._

_Release._

_Cry._

_Burn._

_Silence._

…

_Scream._

It's cold. I pull whatever's left of my cheap yukata around me and huddle against the tree…not the one I was under. It's been really cold this spring, so the cherry blossoms were falling early, and I didn't want to miss them. His body wasn't warm either. Surprising, considering how hard he was working…

"_Come now, poppet, aren't you enjoying yourself?"_

My vision is starting to go; my head was slammed against the tree trunk more times than I can remember and it's done something to that part of the brain that controls my eyes. I don't think he wanted me to see him clearly. I can still see that eye though. Silver. It doesn't blink. Crazy, the things you notice.

"_That's it. Ooh, you're doing well. Okay now, poppet, scream for me."_

How long has it been since I left the house? It has to have been three hours at least. I left at midnight so no one would hear me over the clock. Not that they would care about my safety, but Mother might put up a fuss. And he…he took his time. I'm pretty sure it was more than once, too, but it's starting to blur now.

_"If I wanted you to stay quiet, poppet, I would've tied your mouth." Slap. "There we go. I knew you'd get it right, poppet. Now again…"_

I can't feel my fingers. I bury them in the cloth of my yukata. I can just barely make out the feeling of something wet. Probably blood, or…

_"You've never been fucked, have you? You feel just like she did at first."_

I think that's the longest time I've had skin-to-skin contact since I showed my Empathic ability. My father doesn't like to touch me. Mother…only long enough to hit me.

_"But then," Cut, "she was easier to please. You're the one making this difficult, poppet, you're well aware of that, yes?"_

She wanted a normal child. Like my older sister would have been had she lived. Every day, never changing: "I wanted a normal child! Not something like you! Why was a child like you born?"

I almost think she would have preferred that my auntie had lived and she never married my father over having had me. What mother wants a child who can't even tell if they're enjoying being raped or not?

There's something in my throat. I think it's vomit. Might be blood. It's not coming out. I'm too tired to make it. I don't think anyone's going to come along who can help with that, either. I'm probably dying, anyway, so there's no point.

_"You know, poppet, you might be grateful." Burn. "Judging from everything about you that I can see, it looks like I will be the one person in your life to ever want you."_

It's cold. The yutaka I have on was thrown out ages ago; I fished it out of the trash. Stupid. But I just couldn't leave it there. So stupid…

It was nice. Being wanted.

What he did…I didn't, but I felt it; I _felt_ it (did I do it?)…they call it "the little death" in France.

Fucking _sick freak_.


	5. The Count

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei

**Chapter Warnings:** Spoilers for "Oni no Ko"

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v. the Count

"I do have a soft spot for you, Tsuzuki. I'll yield."

"Thank you."

What ungrateful tart are you sticking your neck out for this time, Tsuzuki? I remember the last one tried to smother you so you couldn't bring her in. And what about the fact that you, indeed, did _not_ report that new partner of yours for sneaking around in confidential files? (Though surely the boy had a right to see his own death records…? I shall have to speak to Enma on that.)

"Instead of thanking me, I wish you'd consider repaying me," I say, hoping to be flirtatious. "You owe me so many favors, Tsuzuki."

The look on his face tells me my hopes are in vain. Such revulsion in his eyes. You would think one would feel more kindly towards those to whom they owe debts. Especially when you've racked up over threescore's worth, and the one holding the purse strings has yet to forcibly cash in on it.

Sigh.

"Such a pretty face, Tsuzuki. Soulful eyes. You have the eyes of a bloodthirsty beast."

What an odd expression on his face. I can almost see his perfect lips move to say "I know". But his countenance quickly turns to that of disgust and he pulls away from my touch. I bow out, like the gentleman I am.

"Watson, would you bring me the file of Toujyou Hisae-san, please?"

He bustles away. Such a dear little man. It's a bit like having a pet. I've always fancied English gentlemen, so a loyal butler and a pack of foxhounds are something I've longed after for the past decade or so.

"Here you go Mas-s-ster," he says, handing me the small sheaf of papers associated with the little trollop bewitching my Tsuzuki. Of course, I shouldn't speak ill of those going through the dying process. It's a harrowing experience, as any of the Shinigami will tell you, and adding insult to injury is in bad taste. Still, I can't help but be slightly possessive over him. His heart is so open, and I've seen far too many of the unscrupulous trample all over it.

"Ah…that's why."

The girl in the picture is quite lovely, slim and pale, dark-haired, wide-eyed, pert-breasted. Exactly my type, as far as women go. She _does_ so remind me of her…it was a few years before Tsuzuki came to us. 1917, I believe? Yes, Seika Yuuki. No, by that time it was _Tsuzuki_ Yuuki. My beloved's sister-in-law. And bedmate, even before her husband was lost to the Great War. As I understand it, the brother was nigh unto insufferable and held no affection for either Yuuki or my Tsuzuki. The perfect set-up for an affair.

I was quite fond of Yuuki. She was a tough cookie, outspoken, energetic, and quite a drinker, as I recall. She and I spent many an hour drinking while she regaled me with tales of their torrid love affair. Torrid translating into fumbling and guilt-racked (well, on his part; she was none too fond of her absent, in more ways than one, husband).

Occasionally she would pop back into Chijou, just to see what was going on with her in-laws. She stopped after about a year, however, when Ruka-san died during the rice riots. She never told me exactly what she saw, though after that she never spoke of Tsuzuki again.

I bore witness to their last meeting in 1926, after he himself died. He approached her, quite obviously overjoyed to see her. It was as startling to me as it was to him when she screamed in a way that can only be described as blood-curdling upon his touch and ran from him. I was quite cross with her for abandoning the poor man, whom I had come to be rather fond of in a vicarious way, and approached him to give him my condolences. They proved unpalatable to him (really, most people _enjoy_ passionate kissing, and I am quite a master of the task if I may say so myself), but something as inconsequential as that means nothing to me. Especially since neither of us ever saw Yuuki again; I received news of her decision to ascend a day after. Needless to say my annoyance at her infidelity increased, as did the incidences of fake smiles from my Tsuzuki. Those horrible, unbearable fake smiles…though I do love him all the more for the strength he shows every time he puts on a brave face.

At least Toujyou-san has only had her claws in him for two weeks; not the twelve years he gave to Yuuki.

My pocket watch says that my trip down memory lane has taken ten minutes. How foolish of me. I am derelict in my duties as the master of this Hall, it appears.

"Mas-s-ster, Enma-s-sama will be upset with you," Watson says worriedly. "For giving Ts-Tsuzuki another favor."

"Whatever do you mean, Watson? This flame has simply been particularly stubborn. Though I think she's weakened enough by now…"

A wave of my hand, and Toujyou-san has passed.


	6. Mitani

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei

**Chapter Warning:** Self-mutilation, suicide, religious overtones

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vi. Mitani

"It's silly to think that God can't see us, Professor."

"I know," I say.

"Then why do you…?" He gestures towards my hand, poised over the light switch.

"It's…easier for me," I say, and turn the light off. My windows are shut, the door is closed, and I have only one light in my bedroom. It's not the kind of darkness one's eyes adjust to; it's a complete cutting off of one of the senses. I feel my way over to my bed and reach out to touch him. My hand feels his inner thigh and begins to slide up. He pulls away from me.

"Not tonight, okay, Professor?"

"Are you all right?" He'd been walking with some difficulty earlier, as if in pain. He wouldn't tell me why, and I couldn't press him for information beyond advising him to see the nurse without looking suspicious.

"I just…don't want to."

I recall saying something similar to my first girlfriend some ten years ago. I don't think I'd ever have refused her elder brother, though. "What's wrong?"

"What isn't wrong?"

I feel my way to sitting down on the bed. We've never _really_ talked about the fact that we're breaking God's law, though we've tried to, on occasion. It's not exactly easy remembering that we're going to Hell after we've calmed down enough to think clearly.

I feel something rest against my leg; it's his hand, and the bed creaks as I feel him lie down and replaced his hand with his head.

"'Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman; this is detestable'."

I swallow. He is entirely too good a student; too quick to memorize. That was one of the things that attracted me to him, initially. He has been blessed with such a great mind.

"'Believe in the Lord Jesus and you will be saved—both you and your house'," I say, as a reassurance I know is hollow.

"'Do you not know the wicked will not inherent the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor…homosexual offenders'…"

I have nothing to say. There's no excuse I can make, and we both know it. I reach down to take his hand—cold comfort. He pulls his hand away. I hear him slip it inside his pocket.

"If you…want to end this, I will not stop you," I say. "'If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away'." I find it so deathly ironic that my given name, a gift bestowed upon me by my foreign-born maternal family, is Benjamin. "Son of the right hand". The son of sin.

He twitches, as if to nod and shake his head at the same time. For a long moment he says nothing, and then slips off the bed. I hear his knees hit my hardwood floor. He rests his temple against my knee.

"'Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean'."

I hear a sound that I've never heard before followed by a choked noise of pain.

"Izuru?"

"I'm fine, Professor." His voice betrays him. I try to get up but his arm wraps around my leg and holds me in place. "It's just atonement. Like confession, right? For both of us."

"Izuru, what are you talking about?" I reach down to try and find him and manage to catch the fingers of the arm wrapped around my leg.

Two of them are missing.

"Izuru!"

I hear another ripping sound and an awful stench of iron that's drowned out by a cry of pain that he can't swallow. I try to pull out of his grasp and go for my light but his grip is strong; too strong; never this strong before. I'm on the floor and I can feel his blood on my bare feet.

"Professor…Professor, I love you."

"Izuru, stop it. Stop it, please…"

"'Neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin'."

"Stop it!"

He's on top of me, trapping me. The bleeding won't stop, it's gushing all over my body.

"Izuru, Izuru, please, let go of me, let me get help, Izuru! Izuru!"

There's no reply. His grip on me relaxes. He's gone. I want to die. I want to die and be with him wherever he is. Where are you, Dante? Perpetually running across burning sand would be better than this, so where are you to condemn me?

Job…what did you say, Job? 'May the day of my birth perish…That day—may it turn to darkness; may God above not care about it; may no light shine upon it'…

The door opens. The light turns on. "Professor?" It's Fujisawa.

God, you're not supposed to care anymore! Where's the darkness? I want darkness. I want to have never existed. 'May darkness and deep shadow claim it once more; may a cloud settle over it; may blackness overwhelm it's light'…blackness…Izuru…I can't look at him.

"Professor!"

I want to be an ancient Hebrew who believed that there is nothing after death. I want to believe with every fiber of my being that one day I'll forget this. Sheol…I want that darkness. Izuru…Izuru, I love you.

Izuru…

I can't look at you.


	7. Touda

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei

**Chapter Warnings:** Foul language, vulgarity, sex

**Note:** Merry Christmas!

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vii. Touda

"So I take it you'll hate me in the morning?"

"I'm hating you right now." She turns away from me.

"Is that why you use your nails?"

"Shut up."

"You started this, Suzaku, and also, seeing as this is _my_ bed," even though she's hogging my sheets, "I think I have the right to needle you for as much information as—"

"_Shut_._ Up_."

I touch her shoulder. She tenses. I press my claws lightly in her skin and she jerks away. Funny that, seeing as _she_ was the one who aimed for my face initially with her zanbatou and then with her kisses. And she gives _harsh_ kisses. I'm not sure which hurts more: her weapon or her teeth.

"So," I say, conversationally. "Have you ever done this before?"

She snorts. I can't tell if it's to the affirmative or the negative. "Have you?"

"Ahh…hmm. I don't quite remember. We _do_ live such very long lives…and I was locked up for a good bit of it."

"You brought that on yourself." I don't know if it's malice or righteous indignation that colors her tongue. Either way it's damned annoying. I dig my claws harder into her skin.

"What the hell are you doing?!" She snaps back, giving me a free show before covering herself up again.

"You brought that on yourself," I mimic. "That's not the tone you take with someone who so graciously let you into his bed, is it?"

"You were putting up _no_ resistance, as I recall."

"Well, why would I refuse a beautiful woman who wants to shag me senseless?"

"Whatever." She turns away again. "Flattery will get you nowhere. I _know_ you'd rather have Tsuzuki here, anyway."

Stupid, damnable, _infuriating_ woman!

"What are you—" By the time she's realized I'm annoyed I've shoved her back against the mattress and am on top of her.

"_Projection _doesn't become you, Suzaku."

"Fuck you."

"Are you offering? Because I'll take you up on that. You can even yell his name if you like."

"Get the hell off me."

"That's not what you said earlier…"

And then I'm a disheveled heap on the floor and she's sitting upright, covering herself with the sheet, red-faced, eyes glittering, breathing hard, and _incredibly_ sexy.

"Go to Hell."

"I've been there. It's very boring." And cold, and lonely. I stand up and she looks away, embarrassment making her red face darken further. Her intermittent modesty is adorable. I sit down. "Would it help if I said that I'm sorry?"

"Don't get cute with me, asshole."

"I'm not. I'm being serious."

"No, it wouldn't."

"Well, what _would_?"

She glares at me. We both know what, for whatever reason, would.

"Do you mind waiting for a bit? It's a little harder for men to, ehm, finish the job, successively. You women have it over us in that department."

"Whatever."

She lies back down. I swing my legs over and sit on her, straddling her hips.

"That usually works better if there isn't something between us."

"My, I never knew you to be so crude, Suzaku-neechan."

"You really know how to get a girl hot, don't you?" She rolls her eyes.

"Speaking of that, is there a reason why you're here right now? Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but you don't exactly give off a vibe that you're languishing in love for me."

"Why do you care? I thought you were in the habit of doing things without regard for other people."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Suzaku! If you'd seen him sitting there like that, with those eyes, you would've done the exact same damn thing."

"_No_, I would've gotten him out of there."

"Or killed everyone else in the room."

Shit.

There are very, very few times when Suzaku reacts with tears instead of anger. In fact, I don't remember the last time she cried before that day in November when she stumbled back into Gensoukai sobbing and bloody. Byakko confided that she used to cry during the war whenever civilians were caught in the crossfire, sometimes for hours. He was the only one who knew; it was disconcerting for the other soldiers to see a general in the state she could get herself in.

"Get the hell off me. I'm out of here."

"Suzaku…"

"Go fuck yourself, asshole!" At least, I think that's what she said; it's kind of distorted. She tries to push me off her, but I grab her wrists.

"Suzaku, stop it."

"I'll call rape; you know I will."

"Oh come on, Suzaku. Everyone knows you could kick my ass with one hand tied behind your back."

That startles her long enough for me to yank her up so she's facing me directly. Her eyes are bright.

"I'm sorry, okay? That was a complete asshole thing to say and I'm a piece of shit for saying it."

"Good to know you're finally being honest with yourself." She looks away.

"You are _intent_ on making me a perfect bastard, aren't you?"

"_I _don't have t—," she says, but cuts her last word short because I kiss her cheek. "What the hell was that?"

"That, dear one, was a kiss on the cheek. Aren't people who are having sex together _supposed_ to be displaying some soft of affection for each other?"

"Why, do you have some affection to spare for me?" she snorts.

"More than you'll ever know."

"What?"

But I'm busy licking her shoulder now, and after a second she digs her nails into the backs of my hands. There'll never be a way to get through to this woman.


	8. Tsuzuki

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei

**Chapter Warnings:** Sex, disturbing ideas

**Note:** It's a bit longer than the others, but that shouldn't be a surprise, considering who's writing it…

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viii. Tsuzuki

"Can you…can you go slow, at least?" Like it's unreasonable. Like he's begging.

"I wasn't planning on anything else," I say, hoping to sound and look reassuring as I rub my hands to eradicate the lubrication from them. His hands are shaking and hot and clammy as I take them and press them into his mattress. They twitch and then go slack.

"You all right?" I ask, kind of garbled.

His eyes are wide and bright before he shuts them. "Yeah," he says, or more accurately, chokes out.

"Hey." I lean down to nuzzle his cheek with my own. He half-opens his eyes again. "You know that I'll stop the instant you tell me to, right?"

He makes some kind of noise I can't figure out. His face says he doesn't believe me. I try to ignore that. I don't want either of us to think about that…_that_ any more than we have to. I kiss him as I try to slide into him as unobtrusively as possible; his face screws up and his fingertips press into the back of my hands.

"Am I hurting you?"

"N-…no…no. I'm fine."

He's completely still and pale. I get the feeling that he's submitting to me, but I don't know if it's because he trusts me or fears me. I have a sinking feeling that it's door number two.

"You don't have to be so…rigid," I say, lamely, but it's a little disconcerting to be making love to what feels like a brick wall.

"I don't…know what to do, exactly."

I'm no help there. The last time I found myself in this situation I was seventeen and with my brother's wife, and I've tried to blot out the memory of her in my arms coughing up blood (I've tried to blot out the memory of her, period). Tatsumi and I had only ever fooled around when we were tired and tipsy; we were never drunk (or brave) enough to take it further.

"I didn't even think," he continues, "that I was supposed to…that I _could_ do anything."

He was only thirteen; there's no way he could have known…

"You can relax, at least," I say, fighting back both the urge to throw up and the urge to go beat the shit out of Muraki. "I'll take care of you. You'll be okay."

I can't stand that look on his face; that scared look, that _guilty_ look, like it's somehow his fault he's had to fight harder than most people to trust someone to take his clothes off. I hate that I can't enjoy this, that I can't lose myself in the fact that he's here underneath me and letting me move inside him when barely a year ago he would shy away from me touching his arm. I barely feel anything, because he's terrified and I can't deal with that. I can't have someone I love be afraid of me. Not again.

"Hisoka, I want to stop."

He looks confused. At least he doesn't look ashamed anymore. "Why?"

"You're not enjoying this, Hisoka, and I'm not going to force myself on you."

"Wait…wait. No, don't." He pulls one of his hands free and grabs my arm, staying me before I can leave him. He still looks confused, for whatever reason I can't figure out, and now he looks hurt, too. "Tsuzuki, don't you…don't you want me?"

What the hell? "Y-yes…but not like this. I mean, like this, but not with you unhappy about it. If it's bad for you, it's bad for me."

His expression changes; it looks almost suspicious. Definitely unsure…unused to something. Unused to…what? Respect?

Oh my God.

"Did you think that…that this would be like back then?" He doesn't need to say anything; the light in his eyes changes just enough for me to know the answer. "And you were going to let me…? _Why_?"

He flinches and I try to bite back my anger. He shrugs, tightly. "I felt it, you know…that you wanted me," he manages to say, so quiet. "I figured it wouldn't be as bad considering it's you, and…and…"

"And what?" I ask, feeling a tight knot in my throat. He shakes his head. "Hisoka, you can tell me."

"It's disgusting."

"I don't care. I want to know, Hisoka. Tell me."

"I…" He won't look me in the eye. "When I…back then…you know how they say that…that rape isn't about sex, it's about power? Well, with him, it was both, and…I'd never felt _wanted_, in any capacity, before then, and…part of it was the Empathy, I know, but half the time I didn't know if I wasn't…wasn't…and when he…I felt it, and I don't know if I didn't…too. I thought maybe I could figure out what…if you'd be different…"

"Stop." I feel sick and filthy just from hearing the words; I have to keep the images out of my head if I don't want a trip to the bathroom sink.

"I'm sorry."

"I just can't stand thinking about it…you and him."

"I'm sorry."

I shake my head. Muraki's not here to take my anger out on and I sure as hell won't take it out on Hisoka.

"Do you want to leave?"

"No." I pull my arm free and push his hand back down to where it was. I'm suddenly very aware that I haven't left him. "Okay…okay. Hisoka, I want you to listen to me, all right?"

He nods. I move. He gasps.

"I do want you. I want you in any way in which you can sleep next to me, and wake up the next morning and yell at me for setting the kitchen on fire or something because I tried to cook, and then we go _out_ to eat for breakfast and I force you to get some sugary concoction that you say you hate but I know otherwise…" I shudder; I haven't stopped, I go faster, "…and then we go to work and I put off doing the paperwork all day, so you roll your eyes at me and do it yourself, and out of immense gratitude I put you in the lounge with a book while _I_ organize our desks."

His breathing is shaky but it doesn't seem so afraid anymore. "Okay…go on," he says quietly. "With both."

I comply. "And after we call it a day, I offer to walk you home. You tell me not to bother, but I do it anyway. And then I come in and we eat dinner. You go to bed, and I ask to stay, and you…you let me. I stop you in the middle of getting changed, and we lay down and…" I kiss his neck. "And we do this, and you're happy. Or maybe we just fall asleep, or stay awake and talk or just be quiet. But in any case, you're happy. That's the way I want you."

His body is finally relaxed. I turn his face with my own—I don't want to let go of his hands—and just kiss him, over and over and over. Everything about us hardens, his grip on my hands, myself in him, everything except my lips on his; there's no room for force and violence here and I will _not_ let him experience that ever again.

He gasps, loudly, mixed in with a cry, and then slumps against the pillows. I move in him for the last needed time, and then all my energy leaves me and I'm lying on him. His breathing is quick and loud; I can feel his entire torso moving with it.

"Did I hurt you?" I almost don't ask; I'm afraid to hear the answer.

He shakes his head, and I can feel myself lighten with relief. I curl up to kiss his stomach, and then somehow I manage to push myself off him and lie down on my side.

"I'm sorry…about…"

"Don't be. Please, just don't. I'm not mad at you. It's not your fault you…they screwed you up, all of them. It's not your fault. I understand. I still want you, just like I said earlier."

"Don't set my kitchen on fire."

I laugh. A dam bursts, and he does, too. I don't think I've ever heard him laugh so much. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard him laugh at all. It's almost obnoxious, almost insane, and it breaks off because he's crying, hard. I reach out to touch him but it turns into me pulling him into my arms.

"Hey…hey, shh." He hasn't been hysterical since Kyoto and I never want to see him work himself up like that again. And most definitely not because of me. "Calm down, it's okay, shh, it's okay, you're fine."

I hope those aren't lies. He hates it when I lie to him, even when it's for his own good. I pull him as close to me as physically possible and try to breach those Empathic walls he's gotten so good at keeping up. He's still shaking; I can't do it that way.

"Hisoka, listen to me. Listen." I'm looking directly into his eyes now, or I would be if he hadn't shut them. "This is nothing to get upset about, okay? You're fine, everything's all right now, okay?" I kiss him; it's so nice to be able to do that and know he won't attack me for it, though it would be so much better if I didn't taste salt water. "I love you."

"I know," he mumbles into my shoulder.

A thought strikes me. "Has anyone…and I mean _anyone_…ever told you that before?"

He shakes his head, making everything a thousand times better and a thousand times worse. I hold him tighter.

"Thank you…for this, for…"

I cover his mouth with my hand. "It was my pleasure." Or at least at some point it will be. As long as it's his, too.


	9. Tsubaki

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei

**Chapter Warnings:** Masturbation, disturbing ideas, mention of molestation

**Note:** After this, the next three chapters might take awhile to come out, as they haven't been written yet.

* * *

ix. Tsubaki

"Camille-dono, you love me, right?" she asks.

"More than anything." And I am seven years old and living in Hong Kong, having just received another red camellia. It's a special treat and our little secret; my mother has allergies, and I have to hide them.

"More than that doctor?" she presses.

"More than _anything_." And I am twelve years old and Eileen is crying, having just searched the entire boat over trying to find me. She's never accepted that I have doctor's appointments regularly; the possibility of my impending death terrifies her, and plus she doesn't like my doctor.

"Then why are you so attached to him?" she demands.

"I love him." And I am fourteen and apologizing at a party aboard the boat, having just rejected the first boy my age who showed interest in me. Ukyo-san's hand is still warm in mine; she is a beautiful woman with scars, and so in love with my doctor.

"But you can only love _me_," she states.

"I can love you both." And I am fifteen and being touched, having just snuck the first alcohol of my life out of my father's cabinet. It wasn't much but enough to dull my weakened body's head; my doctor touches me for the first time outside of medical practice, and I cry for some reason I can't figure out.

"You don't love me at all!" she accuses.

"That's not true!" And I am seventeen and shaking, having just read the note left in my room after Wakabayashi's death. The handwriting is vaguely familiar; it's been years since I saw something like it, and I can't recall whom it is who writes like that.

"Then you have to love me the _most_," she asserts.

"I do, I told you, I do!" And I am seventeen and jealous through my sorrow, having opened my eyes upon hearing screaming that is not in my head. Tsuzuki-san comes in; he pulls him off the floor to carry him outside, and tries to calm him down even though he can't hear anything above his screaming.

"Love me the most…" she purrs.

"More than anything…"

And I am seventeen and shocked fully awake upon hearing someone knocking at me door, having the vision of Eileen against my eyelids disappear as my eyes open. I take my hands out from between my legs; he comes inside my room, and bids me bare my soul after I bid him bare his.

"Eileen was my only friend. A long time ago, my father's work took us to Hong Kong. There was a girl who sold flowers outside my window…her name was Eileen. Every day, she left a red camellia on my windowsill. Naturally, we became friends. When I had to go back home, my father hired Eileen to work aboard this ship. Those were good times…we talked about ourselves, our families, and our dreams. She was my first, and my best, friend. Then one day, she disappeared."

I smile sadly, and swallow the truth.

"Again, I lost someone special."


End file.
